Time To Grow Down
29.09.2024 Asher Packman and photography Marta FDZ
In mythology, milk is often seen as a conduit between the earthly and the divine. It is a reminder that life, in its most fundamental form, is sustained by something larger. For the ancient Greeks, it was Hera’s spilled milk that created the Milky Way, a luminous river in the sky that guides wanderers through the darkness. In Norse mythology, Auðumla, the cow whose milk nourished the giant Ymir, was a primordial figure who helped shape the world. Her milk was not just sustenance but a vital force that gave birth to creation.
Names carry a similar symbolic weight, holding both identity on one plane and our connection to the cosmos on the other. Our given name, much like that first nourishment which we eventually outgrow the physical need for, is not the final word on who we are. It is just the beginning, a symbol of the life that has been passed down to us. However, it often takes a soul journey to uncover the true name that reflects the fullness of our being.
It was on a seemingly ordinary morning some months ago when my car broke down and I found myself stranded by the side of the road. In an unexpected moment, a car pulled over, and by way of a lift home and a kind word, Miica offered a drop of cosmic milk that both soothed and lubricated my stuckness. You could say I was moved. It was an encounter that led to this essay being shared with you, dear reader, the story of a journey to find my true name, guided as much by the soul as everyday acts of grace.
At the ‘height’ of the pandemic back in 2020, I was invited by TEDx Melbourne to be part of an evening of short, timed lectures. Given the strict lockdowns in the city at that time, I delivered it to a live audience via Zoom from my home. An odd sensation—which has become more familiar since—as I strutted the ‘stage’ of my living room speaking to an empty screen with a virtual TEDx backdrop. The experience recently revisited me and, with no recording of it available, I thought it might be fun to share the (lightly polished) transcript here:
“There’s an ancient Sufi tale about an old mystic searching in the dirt under a gas lamp for a ring of gold—his most treasured possession. His friend offers to help but to no avail. Eventually, the friend says, “Are you sure you lost it here?” and the mystic says, “Oh no, I lost it over there,” pointing way off into the darkness. “Why are we looking here, then?” says the friend, to which the mystic replies, “because this is where the light is.”
There’s some humour in the scene, of course, but the point is well made. What if—in spite of opposing societal narratives—the willingness to consciously descend into the darkness of our own collective grief and pain is exactly what’s required right now?
This ancient idea, which Greek mythology refers to as katabasis, can lead to a resilience and depth of understanding that creates a life of meaning and purpose. It requires a journey into the underworld to face darkness and trials before a profound transformation and emergence with newfound wisdom. A different kind of ‘emergency’ altogether.
In this current moment, is humanity being called to embark upon such a descent? An initiation — a threshold of maturation so tragically missing in modern culture — which involves an inner journey to examine the very root of our suffering. Perhaps only after that can we begin to reimagine our future together.
A decade ago, after many years as a corporate executive endlessly chasing the ‘highs’, I was brought back down to earth by the sudden death of my younger sister and my mother, as well as my own diagnosis with a rare blood cancer. My resistance to ‘descend’ and look at my own pain landed me in a psych ward, but after a period in the underworld, the lessons I learned created the life I have today. Harsh as it sounds, if you’d known me beforehand, you’d understand that this was the medicine I required. I wouldn’t have responded to anything less impactful.
Names carry a similar symbolic weight, holding both identity on one plane and our connection to the cosmos on the other. Our given name, much like that first nourishment which we eventually outgrow the physical need for, is not the final word on who we are. It is just the beginning, a symbol of the life that has been passed down to us. However, it often takes a soul journey to uncover the true name that reflects the fullness of our being.
It was on a seemingly ordinary morning some months ago when my car broke down and I found myself stranded by the side of the road. In an unexpected moment, a car pulled over, and by way of a lift home and a kind word, Miica offered a drop of cosmic milk that both soothed and lubricated my stuckness. You could say I was moved. It was an encounter that led to this essay being shared with you, dear reader, the story of a journey to find my true name, guided as much by the soul as everyday acts of grace.
At the ‘height’ of the pandemic back in 2020, I was invited by TEDx Melbourne to be part of an evening of short, timed lectures. Given the strict lockdowns in the city at that time, I delivered it to a live audience via Zoom from my home. An odd sensation—which has become more familiar since—as I strutted the ‘stage’ of my living room speaking to an empty screen with a virtual TEDx backdrop. The experience recently revisited me and, with no recording of it available, I thought it might be fun to share the (lightly polished) transcript here:
“There’s an ancient Sufi tale about an old mystic searching in the dirt under a gas lamp for a ring of gold—his most treasured possession. His friend offers to help but to no avail. Eventually, the friend says, “Are you sure you lost it here?” and the mystic says, “Oh no, I lost it over there,” pointing way off into the darkness. “Why are we looking here, then?” says the friend, to which the mystic replies, “because this is where the light is.”
There’s some humour in the scene, of course, but the point is well made. What if—in spite of opposing societal narratives—the willingness to consciously descend into the darkness of our own collective grief and pain is exactly what’s required right now?
This ancient idea, which Greek mythology refers to as katabasis, can lead to a resilience and depth of understanding that creates a life of meaning and purpose. It requires a journey into the underworld to face darkness and trials before a profound transformation and emergence with newfound wisdom. A different kind of ‘emergency’ altogether.
In this current moment, is humanity being called to embark upon such a descent? An initiation — a threshold of maturation so tragically missing in modern culture — which involves an inner journey to examine the very root of our suffering. Perhaps only after that can we begin to reimagine our future together.
A decade ago, after many years as a corporate executive endlessly chasing the ‘highs’, I was brought back down to earth by the sudden death of my younger sister and my mother, as well as my own diagnosis with a rare blood cancer. My resistance to ‘descend’ and look at my own pain landed me in a psych ward, but after a period in the underworld, the lessons I learned created the life I have today. Harsh as it sounds, if you’d known me beforehand, you’d understand that this was the medicine I required. I wouldn’t have responded to anything less impactful.
Up and out.
We are constantly striving to shoot for Mars, both figuratively and literally. Our resistance to conscious descent has had its own consequences during lockdown, leading to increases in alcohol consumption, domestic violence and so much more.
Perhaps the call to descend has been hidden in plain sight? After all, we are locked down, not up. Allowing oneself to descend may seem like a radical act, but consider this. When a seed sits upon the earth, the first thing that breaks through is the radicle, the primary root, which descends deep into the soil to create a solid foundation from which the plant can grow. Only then does the shoot break the surface.
Deep roots. Let’s first grow down, rather than up. Let’s learn to swim in the dirt before we try and walk on water. Let’s stop searching for the elixir of happiness in all the easy places and pay attention to what might actually be called for right now. Collectively, it might be possible to descend to the stars.
And with that, friends, my time is… up.”
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